


Meanwhile, Back At The Sam Houston Motor Lodge

by elapses



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-17
Updated: 2008-01-17
Packaged: 2017-10-25 15:29:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/271880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elapses/pseuds/elapses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bad Blood... post ep?  Something?  Mulder's Mulder and Scully's Scully get down to business.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Meanwhile, Back At The Sam Houston Motor Lodge

**Author's Note:**

> Written in '08 for a friend's birthday. Completely silly. How, exactly, do you justify words about these versions of these characters that only ever existed in Fox Mulder's retelling of a vampire story? You don't. I am insane.

Scully is confusing. One second she's all mother hen with her fingers all over his neck and face and hair, mumbling about pizza and chloral hydrate, but the next she's glaring at him and yelling things about teenagers and pizza (seriously, does she have a pizza fixation?) and stakes and fake teeth. He wishes she would stop pacing, maybe, or stop being so pretty, or go back to the Scully she was before she decided he was okay enough to yell at.

"Are you even listening to a word I've been saying, Mulder?"

"I... no," he confesses, realizing only seconds too late -- before she levels him with that glare, even -- that admitting this probably raised him to unprecedented levels of stupid.

"You'd better still be drugged, Mulder," she says after a long, cold pause. He nods. The amount of anger she manages to instill in the simple motion of taking her coat off is more than a little frightening. "And you'd better be back in your own room by the time I'm out of the shower."

And he means to be, he really does, but her floor is covered in pizza and sunflower seeds and maybe she'll be less... loud, about everything, if he picks up a little. (Probably not, but it can't make anything worse, he thinks.)

He's on all fours, dropping individual seeds into the cardboard around what is left of her pizza when he hears her bathroom door unlock and swing open. He sheepishly looks up to meet Scully's narrowed regard.

"Mulder," she says, "what did I say?"

It really was unfair that someone so small and so wet could still be that menacing.

"I thought you might appreciate me picking up the mess," he intones carefully.

"What I _appreciate_ ," she says, enunciating every syllable like a mean second grade teacher, "is you getting out of here, so I can change, put some more money in the magic fingers, and try to get a couple of hours sleep _despite_ being out here in the midst of this nightmare of a case!"

"You do like your magic fingers, huh, Scully?" Mulder says finally, attempting to make enough light of the situation that he can get out of her room with both of his balls intact. Judging from the look in her eyes as he pulls himself into a standing position, sunflower seeds rattling against the closed pizza box clutched in his left hand, the possibility is unlikely.

"You know, Mulder," Scully begins. "Now is really _not_ the time to be mocking me for my lack of a sex life."

Oh, no. No no no no no. "Scully, I wasn't..."

"How many times have I said get out, Mulder?"

"Two," he says, but he still doesn't move. Occasionally he is impressed by his own stupidity. He wonders if 'I was drugged' will be an okay enough excuse in the morning.

"Fuck you, Mulder," Scully says after a painful pause.

"Scully..."

"No, Mulder, _stop_. This morning I flew to Dallas at the drop of a hat -- for a fucking vampire story, Mulder -- I autopsied two dead tourists, although why _anyone_ would want to vacation here is _completely_ beyond me -- meanwhile, you steal my pizza, and, yes, my magic fingers, and then you run off and _stab a teenager_ with a stake. I've had plenty of bad days, Mulder, but you're showing me impressive new heights here, and to top it all off, you're standing there stupidly, making fun of me because you're not brave enough to fuck me yourself."

" _Whoa_ , Scully, what -- "

"You heard me, Mulder," she says icily, not even bothering to look at him as she brushes past en route to her suitcase.

"I think we should wait to have this conversation when you're, um, wearing more clothes."

She turns to face him again, and he's perilously aware of her fingers, still clutching at her wet, flimsy little excuse for a hotel towel, but he tries anyway. "It's just, Scully, I respect you and your decisions too much -- "

"Do you ever shut up, Mulder?"

He isn't exactly sure what happens then, but he sort of... finds himself thrown backwards onto the bed, Scully on top of him like one of those vicious cats they found while investigating at that history museum in Boston. Her towel is wide open, hanging from her back, and the ends are brushing against his sides. He has to shut his eyes to resist from taking an eyeful. He can't think what she'd do to him if he did.

"Mulder, tell me you're not trying to wish me away," Scully says softly but sharply (how does she _do_ that?).

He sort of is, but he sort of isn't, and he cracks his eyes back open so he can get a look at the expression on her face. It's predictably unreadable, but not... as angry, and he doesn't really know what he's supposed to do, lying on his back with his mostly naked partner pressing him back with her tiny hands across his shoulders. Well. He does know what he's supposed to do, he just isn't sure he's... supposed to do it?

"Scully, um," he begins carefully. "I'm not exactly sure what's going on here."

"Cut the crap, Mulder," she says, "And do something useful for once in your life."

And then her lips are on his, and her tongue is there too, and he still isn't sure he's supposed to be doing this but god, at this point, it's not like he can _not_. Several long, lovely minutes later (he wants to make a seven minutes in heaven joke but he's pretty sure she'd shoot him), he's short of breath and his shirt is splayed open and fuck, this is a weird -- but nice! -- dream. He feels a couple of seconds to take all this in is in order, but she's pulling him up so she can tug off his shirt, and suddenly the eyeful of the top half of Scully's naked body is unavoidable. He's a little dumbstruck, but Scully continues her ministrations, finishing with a triumphant little mmph noise as she frees his dress shirt and flings it across the room. She moves on to his belt. Where did her towel go?

He supposes it's true about the hands of a surgeon, she is impossibly quick and precise about these things, and he just... acquiesces a little as she goes along, and suddenly she's back up, wearing absolutely _nothing_ (he's not in much more), her steely blue gaze meeting his for the first time since this became real. He's not exactly sure what he's supposed to say.

"Do you... want to be on top?" he manages to grind out.

"Mulder," she grinds out, already rolling her eyes at him (why would sex change the basic tenets of their relationship?), "that was absolutely one of the _most_ unsexy things you have ever said to me."

"Don't... be mad, Scully," he says carefully.

"Mulder," she says, her irritated voice surprisingly unscathed by her heavy breathing. "How about you stop trying to think with your penis and actually do something with it?"

She's making this a little bit uncomfortable, but she seems to sort of be giving him a choice of what to do next. The thing is... he's not exactly sure what he's supposed to do next. He still feels like he needs some sort of written approval for every move he makes. He tentatively starts to reach for her waist.

"Mulder," she says impatiently, still staring down at him, "for god's sake, if you don't hurry up, I'm going to have do this all myself."

While that prospect is not totally unpleasing, he's starting to wonder if he'll ever get this chance again, so he finishes his movement, sliding his hands along each edge of her. He decides to be predictably masculine and go for her breasts next. For once, Scully does not object. Her lips are teasing his ear, and this is starting to feel like a dream again, but suddenly her hand finds his dick and -- okay, _geez_ , there's no way he could be sleeping through this.

He grunts out her name in an obvious turn of events, and before he can think she's sitting up and sort of poised and ready for the actual sex part of the sex and he stops for a second.

"Scully -- " he begins raggedly, and she shakes her head, but for some reason the words keep coming. "Scully, are you -- "

"For the love of god, Mulder, if you ask me _one more fucking question_ ," she says, not looking at him. With what little prescence of mind he has left, he wonders at her sudden predilection for the word fuck. "Shut up and _go with it_."

He does.

 

\--

 

He kind of expects a smile, or something, because it seemed like it was good for her too (and honestly, pissy as she's been lately, she's the last person he'd expect to fake it), but the first sleep-fogged thing she says to him is that he can't use her shower.

"I'm still sticky and gross, Mulder, and you _do_ have your own room, if you care to recall. I don't get it, Mulder," she says, throwing the covers off and padding to her bathroom door again, perilously unconcerned with her state of undress. "I don't get why you always have to be here, invading my space."

He wants to posit that at the very least, last night he was _technically_ invited, but he's interrupted by the trilling of her cell phone. She sighs and allows the bathroom door a wistful stare before leaning back to the table where she left it.

"Scully," she begins, "Oh, sir -- no, we're still here -- um, I'm not entirely sure when we can book a -- _what_? _How_ much?"

So much for blissful aftermath.


End file.
